Quoted By:
"I'm not a complete fucking incompetent? It's not like he had a lot of <span class="mu-i">options</span> for a gig around here. But he signed some shit, so he couldn't talk, and the secretary bitch doesn't tell anybody shit, so it's not like I— we didn't stop fucking because of <span class="mu-i">Headspace,</span> Charlotte. Come on. I was cool about it."
"...Uh-huh," you say. "You had a tour scheduled with them?"
"They wanted to market their shit in camp, and Monty was busy— I think they were trying to grease me up? I... <span class="mu-i">fuck.</span> Did I miss it? Did they send their guy over, or something, and—?"
"Uhhhh," you say. "Uh, Pat, do you know anything about Headspace?"
She snorts. "Bunch of cunts."
"You don't need to, um..." You blink hard. "Wow, that's... anything else?"
"It's accurate. They get <span class="mu-i">all</span> the funding and <span class="mu-i">all</span> the help while we're stuck with impossible godsdamn deadlines and pittances. Management's perfect, golden— and their main guy is <span class="mu-i">weird,</span> too."
"Casey?" you say.
"Of course <span class="mu-i">you</span> know him. Oh, yeah. He's all—" Pat waggles her hands sarcastically. "—and it doesn't <span class="mu-i">feel</span> like an act, yeah? Comes from his weird little heart. But someone displeases him, and it's like <span class="mu-i">snap,</span> like he— I mean, he <span class="mu-i">loses it.</span> <span class="mu-i">Brutalizes</span> the guy. Then goes right back to usual. It's creepy! I think he's got one of those <span class="mu-i">split personality</span> things, maybe. Or Management's messed with his head."
>[+1 ID: 2/13]
Also... really interesting. Damn. You guess you are good at the whole detectiving thing? (Or not. She's clearly been pent-up about this stuff. But you're positive thinking, God-damnit, and it's <span class="mu-i">going well.</span>) "They do that?"
"I'm guessing. I don't know how else to explain some of the Headspace— by the way, say what you will about me and Lester, but at least we ran a <span class="mu-i">normal</span> workplace. Admit that. We didn't <span class="mu-i">dope</span> anybody, <span class="mu-i">trap</span> anybody, send anybody to any <span class="mu-i">reeducation—</span>"
"Sorry—" Madrigal cuts in. "—what the fuck are you talking about? Who's doping—"
"You just cut people's faces off," you say.
Pat throws her hands up. "Okay, you bitch, it's in the <span class="mu-i">contract.</span> It's for security purposes, it's safe, it's essentially painless, it's <span class="mu-i">not</span> a cut— that's barbaric— it takes <span class="mu-i">one</span> subcutaneous injection. What do you want from me, a kiss on the booboo? I don't operate on the nonconsenting. Ask Madrigal."
(3/4)
